


lay down your sweet and weary head

by youareiron_andyouarestrong



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Sharing a Bed, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 09:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7217608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youareiron_andyouarestrong/pseuds/youareiron_andyouarestrong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they get back to Central City, Barry's blaming Felicity for this one.  The hotel bed <em>and</em> the dress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. night has fallen, you have come to journey's end

Alright, if he’s being totally honest, this is not the first time Barry Allen’s slept with Iris West.

No wait, that came wrong. _So very wrong,_ wow! Let’s try that again.

This is not the first time Barry Allen has shared a _bed_ with Iris West.

He used to have nightmares after–after everything. Red and yellow lightning, his mother screaming. He used to wake up the whole house after them. Joe would sit besides him, but Joe couldn’t stay all night, he had to go to work in the morning, so Iris would come in and lay down next to him and the sound of her breathing would calm his heart rate and lull him back to sleep. When they got older, it was the most natural thing in the world to let her curl up next to him when watching a movie or a TV show together, or reading or doing homework. Barry knows Iris likes to curl into the smallest possible ball and squirm so she’s pressing directly against his ribs. He remembers falling asleep and waking up holding her hand like otters do, so the other doesn’t drift away.

They get older, it stops being as common or as frequent. But Iris knows how Barry’s face smooths out when he sleeps, making him look so much younger than he already does or that he’ll mutter nonsensically (this has been the source of great hilarity between her and Joe). Barry knows how Iris breathes deeply and how she’ll burrow under the covers until only the top of her head’s poking out. 

But now, in this present, now in _this_ timeline, now on _this_ earth (because this is a thing that needs _clarification_ now, what even is his life),Barry looks at the single bed in the hotel room and curses Oliver Queen’s name in his own head. He only came up to help Team Arrow with a case, Iris is chasing her own lead for an article she was working on that leads to Star City. It was Felicity who insisted on setting them up in a room in one of the hotels Oliver owned (this wasn’t even a thing Barry knew you could _do_ ), and admittedly the hotel room is _super nice, wow_ , the thing that kind of gives him pause is, well…the bed in the middle of it. 

The very _large_ bed. With the small mountain range of pillows and lake of sheets. And okay, theoretically, this bed is probably big enough for them to take either side and not infringe on each other’s space, but…yeah, Barry’s not sure how much he’s willing to _bet_ on it. 

Iris takes it better than he does. She just drops her bag on the floor, looks at the room, looks at the bed, looks at _him_ and all she says is, “You better not snore.” 

“ _I_ don’t snore,” Barry replies, all the dignity he can muster. “ _You’re_ the one who tries out for the US Women’s Soccer team in her sleep.” 

Iris takes one of the many pillows from the arrangement and hits him with it. It’s probably a sign of how much he likes her that he doesn’t even dodge.  

* * *

Iris knows that Barry talks in his sleep, but she wasn’t aware of his propensity of being the big spoon. 

He’s so much taller than her, and his shoulders are broad and his arms are long, she used to tease him about being such a beanpole, but the last year or so of being the Flash have given him some muscle, some weight. His chest is warm and broad and he smells like the cologne Joe gave him for Christmas (that she picked out) and the soap and laundry detergent from her childhood house. 

She always slept fine besides Eddie, though he did have a habit of stealing the covers from her, she was _content_ besides Eddie, but waking up wrapped in Barry’s arms feels like…feels like  _home._ No, more than that, it feels like homecoming, like something that had been subtly out of alignment pushed back into place, like she had been in pain all this while and now that it had stopped she realized the absence of it. 

Golden light dapples his face, the long eyebrows relaxed, his forehead smooth. His knees are tucked behind hers, one arm around her waist and the other resting behind her head. It’s so rare that he stays in one place long enough for her to look at him, _really_ look at him, and she thinks,  _his eyelashes are_ unreal, _how is this fair._

His hair sticks up in impossible, ridiculous angles and she’s seen it before, hasn’t she? There’s no reason it should cause such a sudden swelling of immense, deep fondness in her heart, or a low, unbearable ache somewhere in her belly. 

She wants to touch him. She wants to turn and burrow into his chest, let one leg hook over his hip, pull him so close she won’t be able to tell where she ends and he begins. That’s always how it’s been between them, lives so entwined she’s catches herself wondering how much of her is from him and how much of her is with him. 

The answer to that gleams in her mind’s eye like oiled gold, but she pushes it away for now. Now, here, in this hotel room, Barry slowly comes into wakefulness, blinks those ridiculous eyelashes and looks down at her, eyes still unfocused and heavy with sleep. 

He smiles, slow, slow, slow, like melted honey dripping down. The look on his face is utter contentment, utter peace. _Homecoming._ The fastest man alive coming to rest, to settle. 

They have to get up. They have to work. This isn’t their home, it’s just a stopping place. 

But it could be. And if Iris has any say in it, it _will_ be. Soon. 

“Morning,” she murmurs, her own voice still hoarse and throaty from waking, ducking her face into the curve of his neck. “Coffee?”

“Yeah, please,” he says and she can _feel_ the rumble of it in his chest and goosebumps come up on her arms, did she know his voice could go so deep? “I think we get room service here too. Breakfast.” 

“Pancakes,” she suggests into the place where his heart beats. 

“Eggs and bacon,” he says. “ _With_ toast _and_ pancakes.” 

“So unfair,” she mumbles and his laugh is warm and golden as the sunshine.         


	2. and you'll be here in my arms, just sleeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> combining the two prompts, _We’re hiding from the authorities and it’s very close quarters in here, I can feel your body against mine + We were pretending to be lovers but I’m not pretending anymore and I have to know if you feel the same way_

Iris is beginning to suspect Felicity of trying to set them up. 

To be fair, yes, the lead for her story  _did_ land them at this fancy party that just _happened_ to also be held at one of the many functions of Queen Consolidated. And yes, Barry was also trying to solve a case as the Flash that entwined hers. 

But the dress that arrived at her door was… _suspiciously_ well-timed.

It’s gold, sparkly and backless and Barry nearly walked into a wall when he saw her wearing it for the first time, which was very gratifying, but they’re here to do a _job,_ not moon about in this beautifully decorated ballroom enjoying the very romantic lighting.

But Iris can multitask. So can Barry. 

Iris tells herself it’s easier just let everyone assume he’s her boyfriend, let herself be tucked into his side and smile up at him, as they accept tiny finger foods and glasses of champagne that Barry discreetly pours out into random potted plants and Iris just passes hers along to him to dispose of. It’s easy to take his arm and the two of them stroll around the room, Barry noting where there are security guards and when the cameras offer them a blind spot.

“I feel like I’m in Ocean’s Eleven,” he whispers to her at one point, grinning far too much and Iris allows herself one fond eyeroll.

“Who are you, George Clooney?” she asks and he considers this.

“Nah,” he says. “I think I’d rather be Matt Damon.”

“The pickpocket?” Iris asks as they navigate around an older couple.

“I always felt a certain kind of affinity for him,” Barry admits.

“I guess that makes me Danny Ocean,” Iris says dryly and Barry, his arm around her waist, gives her a quick squeeze.

“You are a criminal mastermind in the making,” he says mock-solemnly. “Just don’t go _too_ far down the dark side or we’ll have an epic confrontation and we can’t have that.”

“Oh definitely,” Iris says just as seriously and despite everything, the fact they’re supposed to be working, supposed to be focused, they start giggling at each other like teenagers, heads ducked down low.

One of the older ladies glances at them and says in a tone usually reserved for small children and smaller dogs, “Oh, the two of you are adorable. How long have you been together?”

Swallowing the last of her giggles, Iris smiles up at Barry, all sweetness and adoration. “Oh, it feels like it’s been forever, doesn’t it babe?”

Barry, bless his transparent heart, nods and smiles back at her, nothing in his face telegraphing anything but return affection. “For almost our entire lives, feels like.”

Something– _twinges_ in Iris’s heart, Barry doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body, and she knows this,but she also knows with a kind of bone deep, in her marrow certainty that in this? Barry is not playing a part. He means it.  And the scary part is, so does she and she has been meaning it for a while now. But Barry’s always been a little braver than her when it comes to his heart. She’s still learning the steps.

The older woman moves on, after bestowing on them one more benevolent smile and Barry’s arm doesn’t waver from its place around her waist. Iris tries remember a time when this didn’t feel utterly natural and comfortable. “Barry,” Iris whispers, trying to keep her voice soft and even, while her heart tries to climb up her throat and leap into Barry’s arms, “Barry–”

“Think we oversold it?” he whispers back. “Die by the con, you know.”

Iris is seized by a very strong urge to drag him into some dark corner, case and lead be damned, pin him to the wall and oversell this “con” until neither one of them can breathe.  “I think we did fine,” she breathes back and he relaxes.

Die by the con, her _ass._

* * *

Well, Barry foresaw a lot of endings to the evening, but being trapped in a closet with Iris wasn’t one of them.

There are worse endings he could’ve thought of, but circumstances are kind of extenuating, so…

He and Iris did manage to sneak into one of the private offices of the guy Iris is investigating, and while Barry is gifted with super-speed, super hacking is not one of his metahuman abilities. Iris, however, was given a crash course in the basics by Felicity, and she tore through firewalls and passwords with truly admirable speed.  They got the information they needed and were about to hightail it out of there when the security guards chose that moment to do a random sweep. And Iris barely had time to revert the screens before Barry had to yank them into the nearest closet.

It’s dark and warm in here and he can feel how hard his heart is pounding and all he can smell is Iris’s perfume, something that floral and heady and it makes his head spin and tugs him downwards, he wants to see if the scent is  _e_ _verywhere…_

Iris pressed up right against him, he’s going to have some _words_ with Felicity about how thin and flimsy this dress is, because he can pretty much feel everything, and it’s dark enough that he can’t make out the details of her face (her lovely, perfect, delicate face he knows as well as his own), but he can hear and feel everything, how her breath catches in her throat and how warmth is pouring off her like light from the sun. Her hands are resting on his chest, the right one over his heart, half-curled over it as if in claiming, in _ownership_ , as if Iris West hasn’t had the whole of his heart in the palm of her hand since childhood. He doesn’t even know if she’s aware she’s doing it.  

He can hear the security guards moving around outside their hiding place and his eyes have adjusted enough to the dark to make out the curve of Iris’s cheek, the slope of her nose. For all the difference in their height, every soft part of hers is pressed perfectly against the planes of his. He’s at least reasonably certain he can speed them both out of here when the guard has his back turned long enough, but he doesn’t want to move.

“Barry,” she whispers into the darkness, “Barry.”

“What?” he whispers back.  Why is this closet so _small?_

“Barry,” she says softly, breath slightly scented with champagne close to his face, “Barry, I want it to be real.”

His brain stutters and screeches to a halt, everything coalescing down to this one _very important thing_. “Which part?”

Her nose is brushing against his, he can feel her rising on her toes against him. As quietly, as carefully as he can, he slides his arms around her waist and lifts her off the ground far enough so that their faces are relatively level. Any closer and their mouths will be brushing.

“All of it,” she tells him, soft as a cobweb brushing against his face. “I want all of it to be true.”

Another wormhole/singularity could’ve opened up in front of him right now and he would be able to race it closed in seconds. “It’s always been true,” he tells her, hyperaware of everything, the warmth of her, the closeness of this closet, the security guard standing _right outside the door_. Iris is pressed herself against him completely and they’re not even breathing now. Breathing is for other people right now, people who aren’t Barry Allen who feels right now like he might outrace lightning and he’s _done it before_.

The security guard moves on. The door shuts behind them. They keep still just for a few seconds longer.

“Did you get what you needed?” Barry whispers to Iris.

“It’s all on the hard drive in my purse,” she whispers back.

“Okay, so we don’t need to stay here then,” Barry confirms. “We could go back to the hotel room _right now_ , if we wanted. Right?”

“Quit talking and _run_ ,” Iris suggests.

Barry’s never taken an order so quickly in his _life_ , before or after getting super speed.


End file.
